Loser
by Bayseaside
Summary: 'Being an eternal loser is something you come to terms with in the end. With the exception of when you are entered into the Hunger Games and are from Distict 1. Then it just sucks.' Elin Cuttle, the contestant who was never going to win. Please R&R.


**So, being keen on hunger games, and with this little story in my head, I thought I would publish this for all you lovely people. I know it is an overdone thing, oc in the hunger games ect, but I aim to make this different in a couple of ways. (: well, I hope at least! Please read on, I aim to get properly into this after exams, but I just wanted to pop something on I came up with one evening. Please enjoy this, and if you want an update quicker, UPDATE. Thank you, and may the odds be ever in your favour.**

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><p>Being an eternal loser is something you come to terms with in the end.<p>

I guess I had to, being in District 1 and being rubbish at everything was going to catch up with me eventually. People always said to me 'you just haven't tried' or 'you will find something you are good at eventually'. Not me. I have tried running, singing, music, make up, fashion, dancing, even hunting, and I suck at all of it. Something I would probably have come to terms with eventually, if it wasn't for my sister, Feather. Yes, stupid name, I think I got off lightly for District 1. My parent's keenness for ridiculous names thankfully started after I was born. Elin Cuttle. A perfectly normal name, something that I was, for once, lucky with.

But yeah, Feather. My little sister. Many people complain about having siblings, and I can understand their complains. Yeah, they are mean to you. Sure, they lie and whinge. But, to be honest, I think the worst thing about Feather is how amazing she is at everything. And she's nice. I wish she wasn't, it could make her easier to stand, but no, angel child has to be wonderful in every single sense. And she's younger for me, which makes it even more agonising. To be outran, out-swam, out-sung, out-_everythinged _by a 13 year old gets a little hard on your ego eventually.

Standing on this podium in the launch room, waiting to rise up into the arena, she's all I can think about. Maybe she should have volunteered for me, at least she would have stood a chance of winning. But my parent's would never have let her go. They love her, not me. I mean, yeah, they are _fond _of me, but that's as far as it goes. So I had to walk up, onto that stage, no one crying for me, knowing I was going to lose. Of course, since this is District 1, I had to act completely jazzed, smiling and waving to the cameras, gushing about how honoured I am to be chosen for the annual 53rd Hunger Games.

I took a sneak peak at my opponent at this point. I knew immediately how doomed I was. As career tributes, we are meant to be lean, muscular and tall. This boy fitted this description perfectly. Me? Well, I am chubby, a little on the short side and I have seen babies more capable of lifting heavy objects than me. And I have no particular talents and skills that would help me in any way to win this. The Capitol isn't going to like this. As District 1 tributes we are expected to be outstanding, as we have been trained essentially since we were born to compete, and win. The cameras will always be on me, expecting me to kill and fight, and I will have nothing. Nothing except perhaps a close up as Struth, the other District 1 tribute, kills me. The audience will enjoy that at least, nothing quite like one tribute going against their own district.

I tried to think of any strategies I could attempt to adopt to help me win this, or at least survive past the bloodbath on the first day. Running was out; I was incredibly slow and got breathless easily when running, any tribute, career or not could easily catch up with me. The only hope I had was teaming up with the career pack and hoping to hell that they wouldn't kill me.

I breathe deeply and look steadily ahead of me. I am completely alone in this room. Once my mentor and the stylists had got wind of quite how useless I am, they didn't waste much time on me, they concentrated on Struth. Fair enough to them really, I didn't blame them. I just concentrated on improving my 'staying alive' skills, e.g. camouflage, how to tell what foods were edible, that sort of thing. I'm not great at it, but if it keeps me alive, I will take it.

Suddenly, the podium begins to move upwards and the roof of the room opens up, forcing me to squint my eyes at the light. _So we are somewhere hot_, I think, lifting my face to the heat, yet I shiver deeply, goosebumps popping up over my arms. As the podium finally stops moving after what seems to be hours, I take a good look around. Although my mentor told me it would be huge, it didn't prepare me for how far it stretched out, way past what my eye could see. The landscape is a huge forest, as far as I can make up, stretching out in every direction, with trees unimaginably tall. Yet, it is really hot, the sun beating down on my face. _Great,_ I think, _something else to slow me down._

I haven't noticed the countdown till this point, blaring out of some invisible speakers.

"FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE. LET THE FIFTY THIRD ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES BEGIN."

I stumble off my podium, and run.


End file.
